The Fall Of The Lords
by Lily Fairy
Summary: The lives of Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, and Tom Riddle. Not an upbeat story.
1. John Asriel Snape

Author's Note: This is my first Fan Fiction attempt. Please review. Flames, praise, and criticism will be appreciated. I will post a new chapter if I receive a positive review. Be Warned: this is not a happy tale. Do not expect a happy ending. Also, if it gets good reviews, it will be a long story, spanning from before the Dark Lord rose to after he fell. Disclaimer: I do not own Snape or Malfoy. If I did, there lives wouldn't have been nearly so happy thus far. All these characters belong to J.K. Rowling except Samantha, who comes in later, and Boreal, Charles, Asriel. Happy Reading!  
  
The Fall Of The Lords  
  
John Asriel Snape  
  
Boreal Malfoy stood silent, gazing over his fog-ridden estate in southern England. He let his silence loom, forbidding, radiating displeasure as he dismissed the servant with an imperious wave of a jeweled hand. So they'd done it again. What was it they called it? The "employment equality act"? The ridiculous concept that mudbloods should be equal to purebloods aside, the very concept was so exceedingly muggle as to render resistance vital to the preservation of his good name. But the Malfoy family, as the Snape family, had long practice in treading the line between practiced disdainful superiority and flagrant disrespect, and the great lords had always managed to show irritation and disdain for the Ministry without legal implications attendant. Centuries of struggling against the perpetual threat of extinction presented the recessive quality of magical talent had created a society which distinguished between conditions of birth rather than race, and, while the Ministry of Magic had indeed succeeded in passing their ridiculous act, Boreal Malfoy knew that there was no chance that the ministry could possibly enforce this law. As of his last count, 87.5 percent of the Ministry's enforcement team was loyal to one or another of the great lords, and another 3 percent had no doubts as to the inferiority of "mudbloods". No, he could tread this line. There was no need to worry. Even Charles Asriel Snape couldn't stand up to Boreal's power. Boreal smiled into the night. Ironic, how he, the youngest of the Malfoys ever to inherit the title, should have all the influence of high society handed to him on a platter, that he should be spared the furious battle his ancestors all had with whichever heir to the Snape title whom had grown up with them. Yes. Poor old Snape, with five daughters and no sons. Indeed, Charles made an impressive son-in-law, and had done well by the old man, but the Snape family was inarguably the oldest, richest and purest family in Europe, and no son-in-law could wield the full power implied by the name. With his biggest rival rendered ineffective, Malfoy had forced the pureblood families into his following, and he now defined pureblood society's reactions to all crises. He could swing this equality act to his advantage, as he could with everything. There was peace in high society. That was June 22nd. On June 23rd, John Asriel Snape was born, the balance of power tipped towards the Snapes, and Boreal Malfoy watched the influence and power he had worked so hard to create crumble at his feet. But it was raining, always a good omen for a Slytherin, and John Asriel Snape was unaware that his birth would begin a power battle that would stretch on for two generations, and ultimately devastate the social structure and unsteady peace of a world divided by the racial war uneasily suppressed thus far. 


	2. Tom Marvolo Riddle

The Fall of the Lords Tom Marvolo Riddle  
  
Tom Marvolo Riddle stood silent at the center of a mocking crowd of Slytherins. Even the 6th and 7th year students, who ordinarily retired to their dormitories in disgust at hearing Professor Traver's welcome speech again, had remained today to see the novelty that was the first muggle-born to enter Slytherin house since it's founding. The 1st through 5th year students, pleased at the apparent approval of the elder classes, had formed a tight circle around their scapegoat. Such fun it was, finally having someone in Slytherin to taunt. It was poor sport to bother Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, everyone stood up for them, and Gryffindor had become far too talented at self-defense lately. Those 6th and 7th year students not engaged in the circle sat outside it in cliques, murmuring, "This is what comes of equality" and "What do you think the circle will do?" "Darned if I know. Glad I'm not in there. Asriel can't be very happy just now." Tom ignored them all. He had no interest in the younger students. They were sheep, following the elder boys unquestioningly. Nor did he care about the elder boys. They were unimportant. Powerless. All except the five in the darkest corner. The Inner Circle. The heart of Slytherin. He'd heard of them from a braggadocios boy who had thought him a potential Gryffindor. "The brightest boys in Slytherin. They elect a member for each member that graduates. Only 6th and 7th years are selected. Except the leader. Their leader is picked in his 4th year and leads till he graduates. Then it goes to someone else." Tom had let the boy ramble on, knowing it wouldn't affect him. He would be put in Gryffindor. Then he put on the hat. A red-haired girl sat fuming silently. "How can he be here?" "Well, don't ask me, Alexis. God knows FATHER would never tell me anything." "Maybe Dippet's got obsessed with the Equality Act." "Igor, you can't change the hat's judging criteria without disabling it." "They could have used a confusion charm on it!" "And have it put Weasley in Slytherin? There are worse things then mudbloods." "Do any of you use your heads? If this was about the act, it would have occurred 18 years ago, when they passed it." A murmur of discussion broke out in the circle. "Have any of you considered that he might be fit to be here?" Silence. "The great houses didn't appear out of the air, you know. They were fit, and so they survived. This boy may be one such, fit to equal you. Maybe even me." Timidly, Alexis, the redhead, asked "A new lord, Asriel? Who would wed him? Who would back him?" A cold, velvety, and impossibly deep voice spoke from the shadow of the corner. "If he is fitting, boy, all of us will." The speaker rose. "If he should prove to herald and end to the mudblood domination..I should very much like to prove his ally." As Tom stared stone-faced, a tall, dark-haired boy rose suddenly from his place in the corner. Pausing to answer one of the girls in the circle, he strode purposefully forward. Tom was impressed by the sense of impatience, as though this mudblood was hardly worth his time. THIS was a boy who understood practiced Slytherin contempt. Though the boy could not have surpassed 4th year, his face was absolutely expressionless. Instinctively Tom knew this was not a boy who could easily be shaken. There was no contempt, no welcome, no rejection in his pale face. Tom just had time to realize that this was a boy he could look up to when the boy met his eyes. His eyes were black, without the slightest coloring, their shine matching the black of his hair precisely. Combined with the lack of color in his face, the result was electric, frightening and awe-inspiring. Though the boy wore his hair back in a crisp ponytail, there was a sense that tampering with nature had only served to make him seem more human. Stepping forward into the circle of students, who fell silent and scuttled quickly away from him, the boy walked forward until Tom had to crane his neck to look at him. Then a deep, smooth voice purred "Tom Riddle." The boy did not raise his voice. He did not need to. His voice was entrancing, though it could hardly be heard. Extending a long white hand, he hissed, "I trust you've heard of Asriel Snape." The boy pulled him firmly into a corner. "I have heard a great deal about you, and I should very much like to know hoe you came here." 


	3. I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

The Fall Of The Lords: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT  
  
It was really a matter of politics, Boreal thought idly, toying with a limp copy of the newspaper. Nice touch that, sending Asriel after the Riddle boy.  
  
It looked foolish on the surface, an attempt to civilize the half-blood. A blind guess, everyone had thought. A foolish supposition that the boy might be a true Slytherin. Everyone had smiled confidently when it became obvious that the boy would never prove a Slytherin, could never bluff his way through the contempt and isolation with true arrogance. Everyone had thought that they could relax, that Slytherin house at Hogwarts, like South Hall at Durmstrang, still defined true nobility. This.boy, this.half-blood, was a mere aberration, and error committed by a spell thousands of years old. It would not be repeated.  
  
Surprising, too, how Riddle had turned in the child responsible for the Chamber of Secrets. Riddle had enjoyed a surge of popularity when the chamber was opened, as the Slytherins gradually realized that if one of them was responsible for the opening, it must be Riddle. Considering the marks the boy had received, one would have thought him capable of seeing THAT. And Asriel had stayed the boy's ally for all of it. Even on graduation, he had cultivated the friendship. One would have thought it would form SOME bond of affection on Riddle. Evidently not.  
  
Because, after all, Riddle had transcended the condescension and the contempt. He truly was a Slytherin. And he had just played all his cards. He had thrown himself into a political tangle he could not surmount. Charles Snape was out of the running. Lestrange was confused. Nott was in France, and Crabbe and Goyle were harmless without him. It was for Boreal Malfoy, with a child on the way, and no rivals on the field, to make the next move.  
  
Malfoy smiled, and it was a smile of genuine pleasure ans he looked again at the image, in full color on the Daily Prophet's fron page, of a long- dead Asriel Snape pinned to his living room wall with a muggle knife, and, above it, written in the corpse's blood: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.  
  
Yes, Tom Riddle, we shall watch you career with great interest. 


	4. Half-blood

The Fall of the Lords Half-blood  
  
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT. The words haunt me as I run, pounding in my brain as I run from the house of Asriel. I AM LORD VOLDEMORT. They will know it was me. They will know I killed him, yet, perhaps they will not turn me in. Lestrange, Rosier, Nott, Mcnair- these people who have tormented me plotted my downfall in a thousand ways.  
  
No. they will not tell. They will merely watch to see what a 18-year-old boy will do now. I have helped them. I have been useful at last. They came to me as one. "Ohh, is Riddle crying again? Miss your mother again?" then they said something new. "Maybe you'd like to be useful, halfblood. Maybe you'd like to pay us back for all the wonderful freedom you enjoy." I knew I would help them. I am a true Slytherin. I desire only to be the greatest of these boys, and, as I cannot, I will regard them with a blend of admiration and hate. "We don't like Asriel, halfblood. We'd like him to go away". No. They ask to much this time.  
  
And yet, as I sit in Asriel's room, chatting idly of the potions final and what an ass Siddalee made of herself, I say it. "They want me to kill you". He is alert at once. "Who?" It irks me that he takes my confidence for granted. "I could, you know. You aren't armed." He laughs. "Nonsense, Riddle, you would never kill me for personal gain. Only a true Slytherin would kill their friends for personal gain." I am torn between hatred of his arrogance, and a heady delight at the powerful undercurrent of our talk. "You don't think so?" I grab a muggle knife he has been experimenting on, and hold it to his neck. He stares back, calm, confidant.  
  
Suddenly- was it a spell on the knife, or just my own anger that I can never be a true Slytherin, that he will never believe it, that I can never equal his cool, contemptuous air- fury wells within me. I strike. The look in his eyes is one of shock. I will carve my name in his chest, and they will learn to fear me.  
  
But that will endanger me. I hesitate, and think of my nickname, the one Asriel and I always bandied about. I pick up a quill, dip it in Asriel's blood, and begin to write.  
  
Now, as horror seizes me, I flee blindly down the road, and as I run Tom Marvolo Riddle fades as though he has never been.  
  
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT. They will never call me half-blood again. 


End file.
